


All You Have to Do is Stay

by bay_sik



Category: Topp Dogg (Band)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, oblivious hojoon, the unit made me feel too many thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 04:06:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14180226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bay_sik/pseuds/bay_sik
Summary: Hojoon feels Byungjoo slipping away sometimes, which sucks, because sometimes Byungjoo is all Hojoon has left.





	All You Have to Do is Stay

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i'm back after a bit. posting in the graveyard that is the topp dogg tag. i'm actually appalled that hojoon and byungjoo never got a fic, because why? so here you go: all my feelings about topp dogg and the unit. enjoy!

  


  


Their practice room at KBS is filled with the stink of stale breath and sweat. Between the eight of them, there’s enough b.o. to give an outsider a heart attack. It’s disgusting. 

  


Hojoon loves it. 

  


He gags every single time he drags himself into the wing of KBS that they’re using--because the smell isn’t limited, not with sixty some-odd guys and girls practicing at every hour of the day. It radiates through the halls of the living floors and even lingers in the cafeteria. It sits in his mouth for the whole of their training camp sessions, cloying in his throat. 

  


Hojoon still loves it. 

  


Byungjoo tries to flinch away from Hojoon’s invasive nose, swatting at his jersey. 

  


“Dude,” he says, laughing, because he’s Byungjoo and he laughs around ninety-percent of his words. “Stop scenting me like a dog, you freak.”

  


Hojoon barks rather monotonically from where he’s still smashed half his face into the smelly mesh at the corner of Byungjoo’s armpit and chest. Byungjoo is giving himself four chins to try to lean back and meet Hojoon’s eye without moving too much. They’re both collapsed against the mirror, looking out at the rest of the guys who are similarly sprawled out across the floor and against each other. 

  


“You’re still late on the last part of the bridge,” Byungjoo says after a moment. 

  


“Worry about yourself,” Hojoon bites without much fervor. If he cared enough, he might say it louder, try to tempt a camera to catch bickering. But he doesn’t want to use Byungjoo for ratings like that. 

  


“I’m perfect,” Byungjoo says cheekily, shaking his shoulder so that Hojoon rocks back and forth with the motion, scowling. “Worrying about you is a better use of my time.”

  


Hojoon rolls his eyes. The warmth in his chest hasn’t subsided from the dancing. “I’ll count better, Joo-Joo.”

  


Byungjoo nods happily, and pats Hojoon’s head, and scampers off to bother Euijin for the remainder of their break. 

  


Hojoon leans back against the mirror and inhales deeply. 

  


* * *

  


  


Hunus feels empty. Not a gaping emptiness, but something that’s just...noticeably emptier. Someone walking through the doors for the first time wouldn’t perceive anything as off. There are a few spare staff and posters of Elris, the last ToppDogg album, and even a JBJ group shot. It still looks like a regular, if small, entertainment company. Hojoon still loves it, still runs his hands along the walls when he walks to practice like he did during debut. 

  


Byungjoo throws himself onto the wood floor, groaning louder than “Stay” playing over the speakers. “Fuck Moonbyuk.”

  


Hojoon is trying not to gasp, his head nearly between his knees. If he had the air, he’d agree. 

  


“If we lose after this,” Byungjoo continues, “I will fight the entirety of Hot Shot. I’ll get Sanggyun to sic Taehyun, I don’t give a damn.”

  


Hojoon gives up and lays down too, his head close to Byungjoo’s so he can hear him over the music. “What about the little one in WannaOne?”

  


“You think I’m afraid of a few hundred thousand fangirls? Try me.”

  


Hojoon can’t help but laugh at the twisted, serious set of Byungjoo’s mouth, like he’s already preparing to fight an army of middle-schoolers. The tension of the last two days drains out of him. The tense evaluation, Rain scolding them, and Timoteo deciding that they’d scrap the advice of an industry senior (who is so above their pay-grade that it was insane [ _ insane _ ]). It all kind of melts. Not away completely, but it softens around the edges. 

  


“It’s just.” Byungjoo sighs, and wiggles over to swipe the remote from the floor. The music stops. Hojoon’s ears ring a little. “This can either go really well.” Hojoon nods. “Or really fucking bad.” Hojoon nods again. 

  


“Doing things on our own,” Hojoon says after a beat, “hasn’t really gotten us far.” 

  


Byungjoo tilts his head, his hair fanning out on the floor. It looks good these days, now that it’s not permed to death. “Don’t tell the others that,” he says quietly. Hojoon can’t remember his big brown eyes being this serious since they decided to get together, the five of them, and try to follow in Sanggyun’s footsteps with a survival program. 

  


Hojoon clears his throat. “When do we have to be at Star Empire?”

Byungjoo shrugs. “We should probably leave soon. Probably run through it a few more times, too.”

  


“Okay.”        

  


But they both sit, breathing side-by-side in the quiet room until Sangdo comes in to tell them a manager is waiting for them in the garage. 

  


* * *

  
  


It pays off. It fucking pays off. 

  


Hojoon is still reeling from Rain looking at him--okay, he won’t delude himself: looking at Timoteo and Euijin--and being miffed but proud at the same time. Hojoon’s in the bottom of the rankings for the group (again), but even that doesn’t matter when they win first for the boy groups. He’s safe this time. Byungjoo is safe. 

  


“You were incredible,” Byungjoo raves, slurring as he pours Euijin another shot of soju. They’re all exhausted, but most of them, sans Hangyul who’s too young to drink and Jeup who’s still recovering from a cold, came to a sul-jib to celebrate. “Really amazing hyung.”

  


The warmth from the performance should be long faded, but Hojoon frowns as a spike of heat claws at his chest. 

  


Euijin...Hojoon doesn’t like him. He’s too talented for his own good. And others in their group: Jeup, Hansol, they’re talented too. But they don’t suck up the limelight like Euijin does, greedy and clawing it to himself. 

  


“Sunbae,” Gunmin says teasingly from beside him, making Hojoon sit up straighter, tear his eyes away from noticing how Byungjoo’s are practically shining. Gunmin is shaking a new bottle of soju, twisting off the cap. “A shot for the invisible line?”

  


Seunghak pops his head out, already tipsy. “Did I hear the call of my people?”

  


Hojoon tuts. “I remember seeing a whole ten seconds of your reaction to the challenge on last week’s broadcast, so sorry. Sit this one out, hot boy.”

  


Seunghak pretends to pout, and insists on taking a shot with them while the others rib them for being overdramatic. Hojoon doesn’t mean to watch so closely, but the soju makes him too aware of things that he shouldn’t be, and Byungjoo is strangely quiet until Hansol suggests playing Baskin Robins, and the entire table dissolves into drunken counting and laughter. 

  
  


* * *

  


“You shouldn’t joke about those things.” Byungjoo’s voice is loud in the entryway of the dorm. They’re still practically stumbling through the door, limbs filled with sand, making too much noise. Hojoon’s alcohol-soaked brain wonders where the others are for a moment before he remembers that only the two of them are using the space while they’re on the show. 

  


“‘Bout what?” Hojoon says, blinking. He’s not particularly funny, unless he’s forgotten a key aspect of his personality.

  


“You know.” Byungjoo kicks off his shoes, starts making his way to the living area. He stares at the couch instead of sitting on it. “The camera time. The editing. It’s no one’s fault.”

  


Hojoon shrugs out of his coat. “It’s someone’s. And I’d rather make a game out of it instead of feel sorry for myself.”

  


“This isn’t a game,” Byungjoo says, still frowning at the couch. 

  


“Whatever,” Hojoon mutters, picking his way to the kitchenette to pour himself a glass of water. 

  


“Take this seriously for once!” Hojoon nearly drops the water pitcher in surprise when Byungjoo seems to just materialize at his side. His makeup is long scrubbed off, and his breath reeks of soju. He still smells like the smoke in the alley and he’s too handsome to be this close. 

  


“Me?” Hojoon puts the water down, turning to Byungjoo unsteadily. A part of him is flashing a warning sign, that they shouldn’t be talking like this, right now. This can wait until after sleep and aspirin and for the heat in Hojoon’s chest when he looks at Byungjoo to cool. 

  


“Yes you,” Byungjoo says, jabbing Hojoon in the chest. “This is our life now. We’ve got to be serious like--”

  


“Like your precious Euijin-hyung?” Hojoon snaps. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. He wants to take back that name and lock it back up so that the only person it can hurt is himself. But he can’t now. “Sorry I don’t know how to be like him. Sorry I can’t dance like him or stand up to sunbaes like him or send girls into a voting frendzy like him.” Hojoon’s breathing is harsh in Byungjoo’s silence. 

  


Hojoon’s head feels too clear for this, too sober. “And I’m not a serial idol like him,” he says; it sounds both quiet and loud with how intensely Byungjoo is staring at him, anger boiling behind his eyes. “I’m not going to be like him.”

  


“No one is asking you,” Byungjoo says lowly. Hojoon is almost dizzy, his ears straining to hear Byungjoo’s voice, his nose stinging with the smell of the other boy’s breath. 

  


“Are you?”

  


“I just said--”

  


“Are you going to be like him?” Hojoon breaks, shoving Byungjoo away, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. “You gonna get distracted by something shiny and move onto the next thing? The next group?”

  


Byungjoo’s jaw works soundlessly. “I’m still here,” he says eventually. “I thought... After that night.” Hojoon blinks hard, swallows down tears that trail salt down his throat. “I thought you understood.”

  


Byungjoo stomps off to his room, and Hojoon slides down to the kitchen floor. He wraps his arms around his chest, trying to contain the heat of the coal in his chest. Maybe if he hugs himself hard enough, he can smother it out completely. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


That night was the night after the auditions. They’d worked like mad for a month to nail that throw, and Byungjoo had, well, thrown it. 

  


Hojoon doesn’t like to cry on camera. It doesn’t suit his image, doesn’t suit his personality at all, if he’s honest. But it was hard to choke back the frustration that crashed over them when the music stopped. The judges didn’t seem particularly impressed when they called them to perform individually. 

  


Hojoon doesn’t really remember what he sang, he doesn’t even remember if it was good enough to receive the extra boots he needed to qualify. He remembers Byungjoo crying, pleading for the judges to not bias their opinion of ToppDogg on his mistake. Hyuna’s eyebrows raised in sympathy. 

  


They ended up passing, him and Byungjoo. The others couldn’t decide if they were frustrated or relieved. 

  


“Two is better than some of the other groups,” Sangdo said fairly. Hojoon slapped him on the back as they parted ways at the practice room. 

  


Byungjoo and he sat in silence in the dorm. The company only had to lease one apartment now that ToppDogg was only half a dozen members on a good day. The others were opting to stay with friends or family during the show; it felt huge, cavernous. 

  


“I’m glad it’s you, hyung,” Byungjoo said eventually. His hair had just been dyed. Hojoon knew if he ran his fingers through it, it would be rough like straw.

  


Hojoon grunted. They hadn’t been close, the two of them. Not before. Byungjoo had a personality that meshed well with everyone, so Hojoon got along with him fine. But there were eleven other people that Hojoon had to learn to work around as well, and extra friendships took more work than he had energy for in a body strained by idol life. 

  


After the departures, it was different. They sought each other out more, talked more. Hojoon listened to Byungjoo worry aloud about a day when their ex-bandmates might become their ex-friends; Byungjoo nodded when Hojoon lamented becoming the oldest, how the other’s futures seemed to be on his shoulders as well. They started going to practice together, hours before the others showed up, to work on covers, on their own choreography, anything to keep the rumors and the uncertainty out of their heads.

  


Byungjoo laughed when it became apparent that Hojoon wasn’t going to say anything, his eyes curving. He kicked his foot out to catch Hojoon in the shin, making him squawk.

  


“Stupid hyung,” he teased. He leaned back on his elbows. The spark of mirth in his eyes jumped into Hojoon’s chest, brightening the flare that had started taking residence there for the past few months. Hojoon nearly flinches when Byungjoo’s long fingers curl around his elbow. Hojoon looks up, meeting bright, brown pools that draw him in, promise too much and not enough. 

  


“But as long as it’s my stupid hyung, I’m glad.”  


  


* * *

  
  
  


The next morning Hojoon tries to plan exactly how to convey that he is extremely stupid, while at the same time avoiding mentioning anything that happened the previous night. The only things he’s managed to come up with are vague and cryptic, and since Byungjoo is a human man and not a sphynx, he probably wouldn’t appreciate them. 

  


He slept on the couch, sacrificing any comfort because he didn’t want Byungjoo to sneak out past him. He didn’t need to. A series of crashes that probably wake every person in the building echo from Byungjoo’s room before he emerges, hair wild and a sleep shirt on backwards.

  


His face is swollen with sleep, and Hojoon is positive that there’s nothing but ash left in his chest.

  


“Mornin’,” Byungjoo says, and then lets lose a huge yawn. He shuffles over to the couch, which makes Hojoon blink in surprise. It’s an odd day when Byungjoo talks to anyone before coffee, even him. He shifts over to make more room, but Byungjoo collapses almost on top of him, the warm skin of his leg pressed against all of Hojoon’s. They’re both wearing boxers. 

  


“I’m sorry,” Hojoon blurts, all the drafts he’s crafted in his head leaking out onto the floor. “I was an ass last night, and I shouldn’t’ve--”

  


He forgets that Byungjoo’s touch isn’t supposed to affect him the way it does, his jaw locking when Byungjoo presses his fingers into Hojoon’s thigh, making his whole body freeze but flash hot, dizzying. He hopes that Byungjoo doesn’t realize, but he’s not great at hiding much of anything these days, it seems. 

  


“Stop,” Byungjoo admonishes softly. His cheek is creased from his pillows. “Hyung. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  


Hojoon goes immediately to protest, but Byungjoo is too smart for his own good. He smiles and slides his hand just a centimeter  _ up _ Hojoon’s thigh, squeezes the soft flesh inside, and Hojoon’s teeth click together with how fast he shuts himself up. Bastard. 

  


“I’m sorry hyung,” Byungjoo continues. He looks too innocent and sleep-ruffled for his hand to be doing things like this, drawing tiny circles with the pads of his fingers. “I’m sorry because you need to know that I need you. Not Euijin or Jun or any of the others. I need you so much, Hojoon hyung. I need you to keep my team going. I need you to know that what we’re doing is going to build something.”

  


“Build?” Hojoon’s throat clicks with dryness. 

  


Byungjoo smiles, wrinkles fanning out from his eyes that Hojoon could count if he stopped and took the time. 

  


“I’m going to build everything with you hyung,” Byungjoo says confidently. 

  


Hojoon might ruin it all right now, take all those pretty words and set them on fire, watch them burn before he can even appreciate them. But he doesn’t care, not when Byungjoo is looking at him like that and  _ saying things like that _ . He kisses him, because it’s the only thing he can think of that will placate the burn in his chest. 

  


It’s only brief. One is enough. One second is all that he needs. He reels back. “Sorry, I just, I’m sorr--”

  


Byungjoo’s fingers tighten, and Hojoon curses how small his is, how easy it is for Byungjoo to pull him into his lap. He squeaks (Hojoon is a man, he doesn’t  _ squeak _ ) and hits at Byungjoo’s shoulders, looking at him wildly. Hojoon is the one who’s gross and feels weird things. He just needed to get it out of his system, not, not this…

  


“Stupid hyung,” Byungjoo says, his voice full of gravel and sleep. He grabs Hojoon’s wrists. “I said I’d build everything with you.”

  


More kisses only feed the burn like coal to a fire in his chest, but Hojoon doesn’t mind, not now, not when Byungjoo is burning too. 

  


* * *

  
  
  


The finale is something different than he thought it would be. He and Byungjoo aren’t sitting together. Byungjoo picked up more camera time after “Stay” because of course he did, and he’s sitting where the cameras can catch him more often, a few rows ahead of him.

  


Sangdo and Jiho and Sangwon all came tonight, cheering for some of their friends that made it into the top eighteen. 

  


“And of course for you two,” Sangdo had said, squishing Byungjoo’s cheeks as they had all left the company together, Byungjoo and Hojoon slipped back into their white army suits. Byungjoo had smacked Sangdo away, and glued himself to a laughing Jiho, pouting. 

  


Right, so it’s different. 

  


It’s what made them so cautious about auditioning in the first place. If it didn’t work, it really seemed like that would be it. They would be finished.  

  


But this doesn’t feel like that. Hojoon feels...free. He lasted a lot longer than he thought he would. He made friends with idols that he hadn’t even looked at on music shows before. And if he’s honest, he’s not sure if he would trade his spot for one of the nine chairs on stage. Not with his three group members in the crowd. Not for the boy sitting at the edge of their section, his curly head bobbing to the music. 

  


When the units are established, confetti rains down, and Hojoon really doesn’t feel like it’s the end. Almost on que, Byungjoo turns, and he smiles back a secret smile that makes Hojoon bite his lip to stop himself from returning it immediately like a chump.

  


No, this is different. 

  


This is a new beginning that they’ll all build. Together.   

  


* * *

  


  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you if you managed to make it to the end of that. all hits/kudos/comments are hugely appreciated. you can talk to me on twitter @mxnsxxk~ happy late easter ya'll


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